Luminous
by Vestina
Summary: She wasn't brave. And he wasn't perfect. But she forced something out of him that made none of it matter. The interwoven story of Finnick and Annie. Each chapter told in exactly 100 words. A linear drabble.
1. One

The darkness envelopes everything.

At eleven years old, he may be training to be a career, but his heart lies with the ocean.

Even if he has to sneak out to avoid his watchful father.

He slips through shadows, to the beach on the north side of town. The poorer end.

Where he won't be recognised.

There's a girl on the beach, nervous, shifting her weight between her feet.

"You gonna jump in?" he asks.

She looks startled. "I can't swim."

"Just try. It's not that hard."

And then he leaves her with her coppery hair flying in the wind.


	2. Two

Her mother owns a town shop, a produce market.

She's eight years old, yet she works more hours than her mother.

But she's always wanted to learn to swim.

Sometimes, she sneaks out at night. To the ocean.

It smells pungently like sand, and the waves lap at her toes.

"You gonna jump in?" a voice from over her shoulder asks.

She turns, nervous she's caught and her mother will find out.

He's young, eleven twelve, with golden bronze hair and piercing green eyes.

"I can't swim."

"Just try. It's not that hard."

And then he's gone.

And she's inspired.


	3. Three

The flat of his trainer's blade slams against the brunt of his own.

He shivers under the impact, feeling the force of it slam down through his spine.

His damned father put him in this damned, illegal academy.

A politician's son is at a significantly higher risk of being drawn.

It makes for good television.

His mind wanders back to the girl, the one with black hair on the beach. Ratty hair and tattered clothes. Obviously not from the privileged side of town, but there was something intriguing about her.

Living in district four, and not knowing how to swim.


	4. Four

There's no way to put it nicely.

They are poor.

Her father died years ago. In a fishing accident. The bottom of his boat sprung a leak.

She never really knew him. He died when she was only four.

But sometimes, she can picture his face.

And now her mother is afraid of the ocean.

So they own a store. To make a little money

And live on the poor side of town. Eating flat, lifeless bread. Sleeping on mats by the glowing fire.

She used to resent her mother. Now she just wonders if things will ever get better.


	5. Five

He does his homework in the open study. His mother likes it when he's not locked in his room.

And then. The sound of footsteps down the spiral staircase. Laughter.

Bites his lip when a woman, a stranger, with a sheet around her, strolls past him and into the bathroom.

"What the hell!" he hisses to his father after the door has shut.

"Finnick-"

"I thought you said-"

"This is none of your damn business!"

"To hell it's not! What about your career? Fuck! What about my mother?"

His father slaps him. Hard. "Don't ever mention this to your mother."


	6. Six

She flinches when the door shuts behind her. Same as every night.

She thinks her mother is noticing; Annie's work is starting to slack. Her hands move in familiar rhythms, a dazed muscle-memory.

But the feel of the waves caressing her shoulders is more surreal than any dream.

She wades out, farther, letting her hair fan out behind her, floating like seaweed on the crests of the water.

She feels so alive, yet also so at peace. Here she can think. For herself, without anyone watching over her shoulder.

Because thoughts are dangerous.

And she's not going to be caught.


	7. Seven

Reaping Day.

He doesn't fear his name in the bowl any more.

He may be fourteen, but he feels more prepared than he'll ever be.

And his father's been in the news recently.

He got caught. Cheating on Finnick's mother.

Like it doesn't happen twice a month.

So he's got a feeling this is the year.

And hell knows he's not going down without a fight.

He shifts his weight lazily between his feet.

His name resounds over the speakers with startling reverberation.

He waves to the crowd when he ascends to the platform.

Because he's nothing if not charming.


	8. Eight

She's amazed.

Because there he is.

The boy by the ocean.

She recognises those eyes. From all those years ago.

He's waving. On her television. In front of the world.

Except, now he has a name.

And she can swim. Pretty well too.

But he is also destined for death.

That is, if he doesn't send the competition swooning.

She thinks it's ridiculous how all the girls are falling at him. With a body like that, he can't be more than a pretty face.

But he gave her hope.

And that must count for something.

Because she doesn't fear anymore.


	9. Nine

He's been to the capital once before. His father took him along once. He wasn't older than five.

It's just as amazing now as it was back then. The colors, blinding blues and iridescent greens as the train whizzes past.

It feels different though. To actually be a tribute here.

To know that there are twenty-three other people out there, waiting to violently kill him.

One of them sits across from him.

He recognizes her, probably from school. He's glad he doesn't know her any better than that.

Otherwise. he's not sure he'd have it in him to kill her.


	10. Ten

She turns around the sign on the door at half past eight. Open.

They have new special today. Half off bananas.

Brownish, slightly bruised bananas, but people on this side of town don't mind much.

They don't have the money to.

Living in a career district doesn't automatically make one rich. Or even well off.

It makes one forgotten.

She ties up her hair in a ponytail, a bandanna around her forehead, an apron over her clothes.

And she smiles when old Mr. Arter limps in through the door, the bell ringing.

Because one has to be happy about something.


	11. Eleven

"Finnick Odair," says a feeble voice from behind him.

And he's happy about this.

She's a legend.

"Mags, right?" he asks for politeness' sake, shaking her hand.

He knows she's not most tribute's first choice.

But she sure as hell knows her way around the games.

She looks him up and down, checking him out. "Not too bad. It's a start," she muses.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

She raises her eyebrows. "You're very attractive, you know."

"Are you hitting on me?" he winks.

Another eyebrow raise. "Don't flatter yourself, Odair. But we'll use this ego to our advantage."


	12. Twelve

She thinks it's disgusting. How they make the tributes pretty before they kill each other. As if they are nothing more than meat.

She watches, bored as they parade around in their chariots on her microscopic television.

She thinks it's even more disgusting that they make her watch.

She sort of wants her boy from the beach to win this year; she almost feels as if she knows him.

Even thought that's ridiculous.

He's got a good chance; he plays "sex object" extraordinarily well.

Something that also makes her cringe.

Because she wants him to be more heroic than that.


	13. Thriteen

Swampy. It's the best word to describe the muddy terrain and blooming cattails.

He teams up with the careers. But only for sponsors.

But before long, he's tired of them.

He's a lone wolf.

It's hard at times, keeping the cocky smile. But it pays well. He wants for nothing.

And when the parachute floats down, shiny tips of the trident poking out, he knows sleeping shirtless wasn't in vain.

In all truth, he hates it. Hates playing this damned game, hates feeling objectified.

But if he doesn't win, he's sure his asshole father will leave his mother for good.


	14. Fourteen

Her mother's drunk. Again.

It happens every year. Annie knows that otherwise, her mother could never watch.

The killing is reminiscent of her father.

The wine sloshes in the bottle.

She bites her lip, trying to keep from reaching, smacking the vile liquid out of her mother's hand.

On the screen, tributes struggle against a rocky terrain.

"Mother," she ventures quietly. "Maybe you've had enough."

Her mother grunts in response.

"Mom-"

"I need this! If only for right now..."

Annie can't look her in the eye.

It's quiet.

"Mother."

But she's already asleep, the bottle pressed to her her chest.


	15. Fifteen

The crown digs into his head as the president presses it into his skull.

And when he arrives back home there are parades and cheering.

And his twin brothers, five years old, laughing and waving little flags with his face.

His mother.

She looks tired. He apologizes for it. Because he's sure it's his fault.

His father only nods. Like this was what he expected. Winning. Now the voters will have to grant him another term. The father of a victor.

He smiles. For the cameras.

His brothers reenact scenes, plastic tridents and all.

But he just wants to cry.


	16. Sixteen

It's good. For awhile.

There's a little more food to go around. Victor's district prize.

Her mother stops drinking. For the most part.

And business picks up at the store. A little.

She takes the money from a little boy buying milk. Slips him some candy.

His eyes widen. "Thank you!"

It's too much of a routine.

She wonders if it could ever actually get better.

A brown-eyed boy smiled at her yesterday. Even if he does have crooked teeth and acne.

Because as clichéd as it is, little things do matter.

She's not sure what she'd do without them.


	17. Seventeen

Flashforward.

Blowing out sixteen candles on his cake. It's quite the television spectacle.

Afterward, he's, led into a room where the president sits at his desk.

"It's time you become part of the business."

"What business?" Finnick asks, because he has extravagant money.

"It would be a shame if tragedy befell your mother... I need you to provide... entertainment for... friends of mine."

"Entertainment?"

"Of a sexual nature, preferably. Rumor is you've had experience with local girls."

And then he gets it. Understands why none of the victors ever step out of line.

Because they are all fucking sex slaves.


End file.
